Dear night mother,
The youngling flew the coop.
Off for wild adventures, he cannot be tamed.
His elder kin spoke of magic,
The intellectual splendor of spells
Gifted yes, but not quite so as her
The painted daughter of darkness,
She colours the world in twilight.
This brings us to dusk, mantle I wear proud.
Eldest of eld, nutured by you mother,
To grow strong, wicked and well.
Those glowing eyes,
The prestege of feathers
Mother owl, bless our endeavours.
Grow old, grow wise
Bless you, oh mother,
And the nocturne skies.
